


Service (Part 1)

by argyle4eva



Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [15]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gratuitous sushi, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, ineffable valentines, ineffablevalentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: Crowley suggests an unusual dining experience; Aziraphale is unconvinced at first, but is won over.Written for Mielpetit/mielpetite'sIneffable Valentines prompt list, Day 8 - Touch/Embrace.Builds on Day 4’s fic,“Get a Wiggle On.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535606
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Service (Part 1)

Aziraphale, having been told there was such a thing as a couples’ _nyotaimori/nantaimori_ restaurant in London, would have, left to his own devices, filed that information away as interesting trivia, and then promptly forgotten it for everyday purposes.

Crowley, however, was intrigued. So intrigued, he spent a great deal of time researching, and finally suggested they give it a go.

Aziraphale, supernatural being of nearly limitless worldly resources that he was, balked at the prices listed on the little screen of Crowley’s phone.

“We could almost buy another cottage for that,” he said, reflexively. It wasn’t truly _that_ expensive, but it seemed excessive for a sushi dinner with a bit of added theater.

“Aw, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?” Crowley wheedled. “It’ll be an experience.”

Aziraphale was rapidly learning that Crowley would present ideas as something Aziraphale might enjoy when they were, in fact, things _Crowley_ wanted - a needlessly roundabout way of making his desires known . . . but. Aziraphale had made a promise to himself to make up for all the times when, out of fear or propriety or whatever other bloody useless impulse, he’d refused Crowley anything in the past. If Crowley wanted an exceptionally expensive sushi “experience,” then he would get it.

“For that price, it’d better be,” Aziraphale replied, because he couldn’t help himself. Then: “It does sound intriguing love. When were you thinking of making a reservation?”

\---  
  


Seated in the waiting area of the restaurant, Aziraphale tried not to fidget and look as out of place as he felt.

That wasn’t a reflection on his surroundings. They were tasteful to the extreme: elegant, modern, Japanese themed décor with many fine examples of artwork (all landscapes, nothing risqué) on the walls, and very comfortable furniture. He was the only customer waiting; given the prices, he didn’t imagine traffic would be all that high.

Crowley had vanished into the back with one of the staff members; there’d been a brief, discreet, and very firm orientation lecture delivered to Aziraphale, as the intended recipient of the meal (presumably, Crowley would be getting the same for his side of things); then he was turned loose in the waiting room while Crowley underwent his transformation into a living sushi bar.

Aziraphale realized he was actually twiddling his thumbs, and stopped. As time dragged on, he was more and more convinced he should have made the counter-suggestion of a few boxes of takeout and the privacy of their own home instead, if Crowley really wanted to explore serving-tray roleplay.

The owners and the bulk of the staff seemed to be of Japanese descent – from what little Aziraphale knew, the practice of serving sushi on naked people was a bit of a touchy subject (no pun intended), subject to a great deal of Western fetishization and potential cultural appropriation; at least the possibility of that seemed diminished here.

Finally, the smiling and very polite young lady minding the waiting room gestured to him, and Aziraphale straightened his tie and followed her into the unknown.

The unknown turned out to be a small, intimately private room, with dark walls, gentle lighting, more tasteful landscapes, a small table holding a sake set and condiments, a single chair, and a large, low table containing . . . Crowley.

The young woman quietly exited, clicking the door closed behind her, but Aziraphale hardly noticed, staring at what lay before him.

It was _art_.

The low table was covered with a dark cloth, and Crowley’s head lay on a small pillow of the same fabric. The simple setting only served to focus the effect.

Aziraphale knew Crowley was beautiful – he saw him every day, after all - but he wasn’t used to Crowley with this level of _adornment_.

Crowley lay on his back, in a pose both formal and relaxed. His bare skin shone warmly against the dark cloth, bright green banana leaves dotting his body (crotch discreetly covered). The sushi was perfectly arranged, masterfully chosen for appearance as well as (presumably) flavor; raw salmon and fish roe were favored, echoing the flame-orange of Crowley’s hair, contrasting beautifully with the green leaves. A few chrysanthemum blossoms, rust-red and creamy-white, completed the display.

Aziraphale realized his hand had flown up to cover his mouth, and he lowered it, breathing out, “Oh, love, you are gorgeous . . .”

“They sure did a job, didn’t they?” Crowley said, grinning at Aziraphale’s reaction. “Finally think this was worth the money?”

“Love, it was worth every _penny_.”

One of the rules had been a firm _no photographs_ , but Aziraphale’s memory was better than any camera, and he walked around the table slowly, burning the scene into permanence.

Crowley was pleased as punch, following Aziraphale’s progress as best he could while holding still. “You should see the bathing setup they’ve got back there – I haven’t seen anything close since Ancient Rome, and Rome didn’t have showers. It was almost worth it just for _that_.”

Aziraphale was still lost for words, and didn’t reply. Fortunately, Crowley was rattling on and a response wasn’t necessary. “Seriously, they could rent this place out as a spa, if they weren’t doing any sushi orders that day. Huh. Maybe they do . . .”

By then, Aziraphale had reached Crowley’s head, so Crowley added, “Say, could you . . .” he tilted his head and squinched his nose, and Aziraphale understood – he was still wearing his dark glasses.

“Yes, of course, love,” Aziraphale said, attempting to pull himself together. He gently removed the glasses, folding and setting them onto the table.

Crowley sighed with relief. “They weren’t happy about me leaving those on, but I convinced ‘em in the end.” He laughed. “They even asked what color my eyes were, so they could match things. I told ‘em green, seemed safe. He grinned at Aziraphale again, golden eyes bright.

Aziraphale hesitated at the small table, hand hovering over the provided chopsticks. “It seems a terrible shame to spoil things . . .”

“Spoil away, that’s what this is all about.”

Aziraphale busied himself pouring a bit of soy sauce into the provided bowl, and set a dab of wasabi at the edge. He took a taste and, yes, the wasabi was absolutely the real thing, No colored horseradish here. His worries that the quality of the food might not match the rest of the "experience" were assuaged. A sip of the sake - also excellent, at a perfect temperature.

And then . . . “Where to begin?” he mused.

“You’ve said that before,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale blushed. “I’m trying to concentrate on the sushi, love. And you aren’t supposed to be talking.” He’d work from the outside in, he decided.

“Hah, rules were made to be broken.”

Aziraphale sighed, suppressing an eyeroll, and picked up the first slice of urumake from the leaf on Crowley’s left thigh; the roll had been lightly coated with bright orange tobiko roe, which gleamed like tiny jewels. A dab of wasabi, a dip of soy sauce, and . . .

_Oh. Oh dear._

He chewed in pure bliss, everything else temporarily forgotten. Art, indeed.

He opened his eyes, and met Crowley’s gleaming amber gaze. “Worth _every_ penny,” he declared, and went to work on the rest of the display with gusto.

Five more slices of the urumake (three on each thigh), a pause for sake and a nibble of pickled ginger to clear the palate, then a clockwise turn to Crowley’s right upper arm and the maki there, color brightened with fine slivers of carrot in the roll itself, and topped with a sprinkle of shaved, fried sweet potato.

“Bit of wasabi?” Crowley requested when Aziraphale had finished his left arm. Aziraphale complied, feeding Crowley a crumb with the chopsticks. That was all Crowley needed, just a bit to spread the heat across his tongue.

“Wow, that _is_ good,” Crowley agreed, licking his lips. “More?” he opened his mouth expectantly and Aziraphale’s brain left the subject of sushi for a moment. One of the very firmly stated rules of the establishment was no sexual activity in the rooms, though he was starting to wonder if that was official boilerplate to protect the restaurant itself from any charges of impropriety, rather than a rule they expected to be followed in practice. After all, the promised setup of _eat gourmet sushi off the naked body of your partner in your own private room_ didn’t exactly lack erotic overtones.

Aziraphale beat down the Effort that was attempting to break through his control, and told it _later._ He dutifully fed Crowley another crumb of wasabi.

He turned his attention to Crowley’s torso, and noticed the banana leaf at Crowley’s crotch was lying flat and serene, so presumably Crowley was just playing with his flirtation, and keeping his own Efforts under control.

Two pieces of salmon nigiri were perched on Crowley’s chest, one over each nipple, a nicely cheeky touch. Aziraphale, having done a bit of research himself, had read that it was, in some circumstances, allowable to lift nipple sushi by mouth, rather than using chopsticks - so, to give Crowley a bit of flirting back, he did, starting with the left nipple.

The fish was perfect on its bed of rice, rich and buttery, needing no other seasoning. There was also no discreet bit of banana leaf underneath, which raised Aziraphale’s internal eyebrow. The chances of illicit activities being expected went up a bit.

“Angel!” Crowley sounded surprised, if not displeased. “What was that?”

“Just proper table manners, love,” Aziraphale told him, primly, before leaning over to uncover the right nipple. This time he let his tongue linger a bit as he did so.

The noise Crowley made was - well. A quick, sidelong glance down Crowley’s torso indicated the banana leaf was still un-moved, but Aziraphale was at least having some effect. There was a distinct flush creeping down the skin of Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale smiled, then began the business of enjoying the second bit of salmon.

Next was the trail of sushi down the center of Crowley’s body, alternating pieces of that same, lovely salmon nigiri, shrimp nigiri, and avocado maki, keeping the green and orange theme. Aziraphale worked his way down, daintily sipping sake and nibbling ginger between each piece as he went.

Crowley’s breathing seemed to be getting louder, and as Aziraphale leaned over to pluck up a bit of maki, he caught Crowely’s personal wood-and resin scent more strongly than it had been before, presumably because he was heating up a bit. Still nothing else happening that Aziraphale could see, though otherwise he’d have been certain Crowley was solidly in Effort territory.

He got his final clue when he reached the last banana leaf, and lifted the first of three pieces of gunkan maki topped with lush, extravagant piles of glittering tobiko. As he did so, he got a powerful whiff of Crowley’s scent . . . with a particular twist he was not expecting.

He stopped, sushi balanced in his chopsticks, and looked up Crowley’s body with raised eyebrows. “Well. And here I thought your control was simply phenomenal.” He couldn’t help smiling a bit.

Crowley looked down at him, head lifted from the pillow, a faint flush across his cheeks. “Once they left, I swapped out,” he said. “That sushi is _cold_ , angel. It was way more comfortable to get all the sensitive bits inside.” He let his head flop back on the pillow. “But it turns out this configuration’s a little more difficult to keep in line. More complicated connections.”

“That is one advantage of male anatomy. It’s far more direct,” Aziraphale said, and ate the gunkan maki with relish. He spread the tobiko around the roof of his mouth with his tongue, to get the maximum crackle and flavor from it. He closed his eyes, as he always did, to focus on the oral sensations, but he knew Crowley was watching.

“So, love, I believe we have a decision to make,” he said, and popped the next-to-last piece of sushi into his mouth, savoring it like the first.

“Angel . . .” Breathy. Hopeful.

“Exactly what other rules are we willing to ignore?” Aziraphale’s chopsticks hovered over the last bit of sushi. “You’ve served me a lovely meal, in the most literal sense possible. Is there any other . . . service you wish to provide?”

“ _Fuck_ , Aziraphale . . .” Crowley squirmed, but only a bit. He was still holding his original position, which was interesting.

_Acts of Service_ it was called, a form of expressing love. Aziraphale was very aware that Crowley might as well be the poster child for the concept. This whole endeavor reeked (ahem) of it.

Far be it from Aziraphale to deny his love the pleasure he sought.

“Is that a suggestion?” Aziraphale asked, and ate the last bit of sushi, this time with his eyes open, watching Crowley’s reaction.

“Nghrrr!” Crowley’s incoherent frustration was clear. "Are you going to _talk_ me to death here or . . .?"

“Because fucking might be too flagrant of a violation, but I think we could _bend_ the rules a bit.” Profanity, from Aziraphale’s mouth, was a guaranteed aphrodisiac where Crowley was concerned.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s hips arched, in need, invitation, or both. He started to shift position, but Aziraphale stilled him with a hand on one leg.

“Now, we shouldn’t go breaking _too_ many rules at once. You can continue to hold still, can’t you?”

Crowley was breathing as if he were running, but he managed to squeak out a tiny, “Yes.”

“Very good,” Aziraphale told him, caressing Crowley’s leg before setting down his chopsticks and soy sauce, and scooting the chair next to the table even with Crowley’s hips. One last sip of sake, then Aziraphale picked up a bit of ginger.

“Whoa,” Crowley said, in a much more normal tone of voice. “You’re not putting _that_ on me, it’ll sting.”

“Just clearing my palate,” Aziraphale told him, with a sidelong, through-the-lashes, glance, and munched.

“Hrgh.” Crowley’s head flopped back on the pillow.

“Now . . .” Aziraphale leaned so he could put his left elbow just outside Crowley’s right hip, and his right elbow snug against Crowley’s left hip, his side pressing down on Crowley’s legs, effectively pinning him in place. “. . . let’s see what you have for me.”

He peeled aside the banana leaf, and, yes, Crowley’s Effort had definitely gotten away from him. Aziraphale took a deep breath of the intense scent. ‘Oh, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Angel, I swear, do something or . . .”

Even with Crowley’s legs clamped together, it was easy for his thumbs to do a little spreading, and quick work for his tongue to find what he wanted.

Crowley made a noise like he was being strangled, and Aziraphale stopped long enough to tell him. “Nobody will hear you, love, I’ve taken care of that. Feel free.” Then he went back to work, slow and steady.

Crowley took him at his word, and nearly howled. Gasps and snarls were interspersed with hisses and fragments of words. When he got to, “ _Fuck, please, yes, angel . . ._ ” Aziraphale took pity and increased his speed and pressure, tipping Crowley over the edge.

When Crowley was limp and gasping, Aziraphale loosened his embrace of Crowley’s hips and rubbed his thighs, helping the muscles relax, then smoothed the banana leaf back into place.

“That was magnificent. My compliments to the chef,” he said.

Crowley managed a breathy laugh. “Sushi with a smile, and a happy ending,” he said.

Azirphale chuckled, and cleaned up with his napkin, followed by one last bit of ginger (as was proper). He stood, and stepped even with Crowley’s head, leaning down for a kiss. The angle was awkward, but the contact heartfelt.

When they parted, Crowley’s eyes were still nearly black, pupils dilated to their maximum, full of elemental need. Crowley’s female mode tended to have a great deal of staying power, and normally this would be just the start of things.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale told him, caressing his cheek. “I wish we could do more, but I think we’re about at our time limit.”

“And our rule-breaking limit?” Crowley asked, with a half-smile. He concentrated, and as Aziraphale watched, his pupils contracted to narrow slits. “We aren’t done, though.” It wasn’t a promise, or a request. When Crowley said it that way, it was a _fact_.

“No, but for now, I’m supposed to ring the buzzer, and they’ll collect me.”

“And I stay here, they come scrape leaves off me, and I’ll get cleaned up.”

“Then . . .”

“We’ll work it out.”

One more kiss, and all evidence of anything but perfectly decorous sushi consumption was gone. 

Aziraphale restored Crowley's dark glasses ("Thanks, angel I would have forgotten that. Awkward."), then adjusted his own lapels, straightened his tie, plastered what he hoped was a relatively normal expression on his face, and went to ring the buzzer.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic refers to the use of naked sushi/nyotaimori/nantaimori as an apparently common fanservice item (and I'd consider this fanservice of a sort) along with the other meanings and implications of the word. Sorry for all the sushi porn, but I love the stuff, though I’m far from an expert, and could murder some salmon nigiri right now. The other . . . well, it followed naturally, even if it wasn’t my intention (honest!) when I started the piece.


End file.
